Cottoncandy
by hectatess
Summary: One shot. Sam needs to do a grocery run., and quick too. Some stuff they need tonight...but what's with the cottoncandy smell he keeps smelling?


"Sam!" Hearing the holler his big brother gave, Sam Winchester stuck his head out of the motel bathroom. "What?" he asked, not sure why Dean had cried out. His tone didn't suggest trouble, more irritation. Dean was upending one of their duffels on the bed nearest the door. "Where's the spraypaint?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "Should be in the navyblue duffel." Dean turned on him, eyes blazing. "Well, it isn't! Why isn't it?" Superiorily unimpressed, Sam walked into the room. "I don't know. If I recall correctly, you did the last demontrap. So you must have taken the last can." Dean frowned. "Alright then. Next grocery run, new spraypaint." Sam nodded. They couldn't be without that, like salt or iron, or simple bullets for that matter. Dean smiled mischeivously. "Sammy..." Sam warily eyed his big brother. "... you're up for the grocery run." Sam deflated, rolled his eyes and gave Dean his best bitchface, which Dean had dubbed "Bitchface Zero, the prime bitchface". Too bad Dean wasn't impressed. "You can be like that, little brother, but you still have to do the run. I'm going to interview the widow." Sam intensified his bitchface. "Yeah, and you do that out of the goodness of your heart. The fact that she's only thirty doesn't have anything to do with it..." Dean chuckled. "Yeah. I'm a Saint." He tugged on his tie and winked. "Don't forget the pie, Sam."

Sam dumped the bags of groceries in the backseat of the Impala. Only the hardware left, which meant the spraypaint. He sighed. Dean could be such a pain at times, but he loved him anyway. With a small, private smile, Sam walked into the hardware store. "Howdy sir. Can I help you?" the portly guy at the checkout asked. Sam shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks." The guy tilted his head. "I guess you will be. You don't need any help reaching the top shelves, do ya?" That earned him a sigh. "No, I don't." Sam said. He didn't like being reminded of his 6'4". He ducked into an aisle and started looking for red spraypaint. He found the paint section ok, but no matter how hard he searched, the only colour on the shelves was hot pink. He made his way back to the checkout. "Ehm... can... can you help me?" The portly man swirled around. "Sure thing, big guy." Sam squared his shoulders. "I need spraypaint, but I can litterally only find hot pink." The guy bit his lower lip and his eyes crinkled up with mirth. "Yeah... sorry about that. The home renovation virus has hit town. They cleaned me out in two days. Hot pink is the only colour they didn't want. Hells, even eggplant and lime were in demand." Imagining Dean's face if he would bring back hot pink for the demon traps, Sam coughed. "Any other stores I can try?" The man shook his head. "Sorry, bucko. Only hardware store in town. I can put it in backorder for you. That would take about four days."

Sam was sorely tempted to agree, when his phone rang. Holding up one finger to tell the clerk he would come back to him, Sam answered. "Sammy, you done with the run yet?" Dean sounded a bit anxious. "Almost. Ran into a little snag..." Sam started to explain, but his brother interupted. "Yeah, hurry up, man. We need the paint tonight! I think the kid is posessed. We need it trapped and we need to exorcise. I'm not ganking a kid. Not if the meatsuit can survive." Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Great. Yeah... on my way, Dean." The clerk smirked. "The boyfriend?" Sam balked. "No. Brother. Be right back." Hurrying back to the spraypaint aisle, Sam muttered curses under his breath. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed four cans of the hot pink paint and jogged back to the counter. The clerk raised his eyebrows. "Really? What would the emergency be that even hot pink would be good?" Sam's mouth twitched in irritation. "Don't ask." He sniffed surreptiously. No rotten eggs, thank goodness, but he did smell... "Do you sell cottoncandy?" The guy blinked. "No, why would a hardware store sell stuff like that?" Sam shook his head lightly. "I don't know... just... I thought I smelled cottoncandy." The clerk chuckled, and rang off the paint. Sam paid, gathered up the cans and all but ran to the Impala, the laughter of the portly clerk drifting after him.

Sam winced when Dean uncapped a can of spraypaint without looking. He shook it vigourously and started painting on the backside of a rug. After a quart circle he stopped, looked at the can, and back at the rug. "What the... Sam? What's this?" Sam cleared his throat nervously. "Ehm... paint?" He cringed. Why did that come out as a question? Dean threw him his exasperated look. "I know. But why is this... pink? Like really, really pink?" Sam felt the blush rise. "It was all they had, and you wanted it tonight. Backorder would be four days." Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, but he resumed painting the demontrap. "Shit smells like cottoncandy..." he muttered, making Sam tilt his head questioningly. Somehow the smell of cottoncandy always reminded him of Gabriel... poor schmuck. If he thought about him hard enough, he could almost hear him chuckle in that annoying way. Like, just on the edge of hearing... Sam shook his head.

They caught the demon, exorcised it's butt back to the pit, and let the grateful mom mollycoddle her son. On their way back to the Impala, Dean started chuckling, slowly transgressing into laughter. It got so bad, he had to lean on the roof of the car to keep upright. Sam frowned, feeling a bit worried. This was unusual behaviour for his brother. "Dean? Something funny?" Dean gasped a few times, wiped his eyes and exhaled loudly. "Pink... hot pink... I wanna keep these last two cans. I wanna see Crowley's face when we summon him into a hotpink demontrap!" His voice rose towards the end and her rushed the last few words out before collapsing in helpless laughter again. Sam bit his lip, but he burst out laughing too. Suddenly a third voice joined in. "You guys are getting better! Your sense of humour is definitely improving, bucko!" A 5' 7" guy popped into existence, sitting Indian style on the hood of the car. His caramel coloured hair was shoulderlength, and his golden eyes crinkled with mirth. Sam and Dean gasped. "Gabriel!" they called in unison. The Archangel hopped off the car with a flourish. "Right you are boys! Want a sticker?" Sam blinked. "Wait a second... the clerk at the hardware store? That was you?" Gabriel smiled brightly at him, as if he had said the most amazing thing. "You betcha, bucko! I was getting bored with playing dead. So I wanted to play with my favorite muttonheads instead." Sam started chuckling. "I knew I smelled cottoncandy..."

The night was deep dark this far into the sticks. Sam turned a chuckle into a cough. "Shush!" Dean hissed, as he added the last touches. "Dean-o... you sure we're safe? I mean. I can pop off, but you two sorry saps can't. And I'm sure Castiël wont like it if you got hurt. Besides, I'm getting fond of you chuckleheads." Sam smirked at him. "Awe. Thanks. Appreciate the sentiment, Trickster." Dean straightened. "There, done. Yeah, we're good, Gabe. Remember, we have done this before. And now, we start." He lit the candles, slit his hand and started chanting. He dripped his blood into the bowl of herbs, a playful grin around the corners of his mouth. "Go invisible girl, Gabe. He doesn't need to know you survived. He might wanna use you." Gabriel smirked. "Bitch, please..." Dean just stared at him. "Ok, ok... Going." He shimmered and was, well, probably invisible. Just in time too. The centre of the sigil had begun to smoke. A raspy voice called out. "Moose, Squirrel... what do you two... what in the seven HELLS?" Sam collapsed helplesly, Dean followed with a full body laugh, head and back bent backwards, his eyes sparkling and crinkling up at the sides. Crowley stood in the middle of the demontrap, his entire being radiating confusion. "Really guys, what is this? PINK?! Who do you think I am? Dennis Rodman?" Dean was helping Sam up, but at this outburst they hung onto eachother, barely staying upright. Crowley sniffed suspiciously. "Good grief! What did you use to paint this? Cottoncandy?" A third laugh rolled around the crossroads and the boys howled. Dean crawled towards the sigil, eyes filled with tears of laughter. "S...sorry... we'll... we'll have to... do this another...time." He scratched a break in the sigil, before laying flat on the ground, shaking with laughter. Cowley glared at him. "Draft as brush you two. Maybe next time I will not respond. I'm not a butler." He brushed his lapel and disappeared in a huff.


End file.
